Move Your Body
by notsodelicious
Summary: Because Carlisle and Esme are worth all the lemons in the world, here are some of mine.
1. Nursing Carlisle

_**Hello dear readers ! Long time no see. Sorry for being completely MIA, but school has been so stressful lately, so i'll take some profit from spring break.**_

 _ **So here's a little lemon (Lord I had missed it...) for you. If you enjoy reading it, please leave a review. Oh, and also, I might make a series of lemon one-shots/two-shots out of this, please let me know if that would please you. As always, for those of you who are on Tumblr, you can ask me everything here (link in bio) or simply in a review. :3**_

 _ **I hope you guys like it, and let me know. Enjoy your Sunday Carlesme smut. (cuz I would, and I will)**_

 _ **xxx**_

* * *

Coming home from work that day, the number of failed emergencies weighing heavily on my mind, the last thing I wanted to do was to talk to somebody. However, living in a house with six other people, it was absolutely impossible.

The first one to greet me home was Esme. She didn't say anything, she just took my briefcase from me and led me inside.

I could hear the other's voices echoing from the living room, and I tensed up unconsciously. My eyes darted from the staircase to the inviting light coming down from my office, and I restrained myself from making a bee-line for it. Someone — most likely Esme — must have lit up a few candles, since I could feel the warmth on my cold skin, relishing in the little comfort it brought me.

« Go make yourself comfortable my love, I'll take care of that. » she said, still holding my coat and briefcase, swiftly stealing my blouse. « It needs to be washed. »

I thanked her with a simple kiss on her forehead, closing my eyes and inhaling her sweet scent. She smelled like a warm, worn out pillow — one that would be your favorite, drenched in your scent. The one you never wanted to leave behind on the wake of a winter morning. I wanted to whisper a quiet « _I love you_ », but, somehow, did not. Instead, I gently caressed her cheek with the back of my hand before heading upstairs, not even bothering to stop by the living room.

I knew they wouldn't mind. Edward would have told them already. Stepping into my office, I noticed a few things : one, a freshly washed blouse laid on my desk — so Esme's excuse was merely a mean of giving me some alone time, even though I already knew that — ; second, at least five or six candles were lit, the thick yet fragile little flames dancing in the dark surroundings, lighting the corners of the somber room.

These playful flames warmed my heart, easing the pain a bit, but the distress still remained. And for that, I only knew one cure.

I sighed heavily, leaning over my desk to grab the blouse. I stored it somewhere between a medicine book and a history one, and looked for a merrier subject, gliding my fingers smoothly across the books spine, feeling the change in material as I did so. There were large, antique bedside books that nobody but me ever touched (it was more out of nostalgia than anything else, really), and then tiny pocketbooks, which my fingers simply missed since they were so small compared to the larger ones, and then there were some without title, which spine were dismantled, and those, clearly were the ones I had read more often but still hadn't touched in years.

Then there was the shelf of the more contemporary books, and those were frequently found out and about in the house, and I suspected my wife to forget to put them back into place after she was done reading them. Not that I really minded. Or maybe she left them out on purpose, who knew. She had her antiques too, and I — like pretty much everything else about her — adored them. They made her who she was and the woman I loved.

So, the woman I loved, my Esme, completely forgot to put books back on their shelves, and also hated doing the laundry and always found an excuse to make me do it with her because she said « it went quicker that way ». I was still unsure wether it was because our conversations were interesting and actually helped the time pass, or if it was just having me with her that helped. I would lie if I denied that I'd very much prefer the second option to be true. She often said that she enjoyed starting a book at its end just to see if any bad outcome was to fear, because then she could feel like a teenager afraid of having a sleepless night (and she knew well the meaning of « sleepless »). She also loved to lie down in the grass, in the beginning of spring, just to see the birds pass the world by, amusing herself on her own, counting them down and hoping they'd make it through the voyage safe and sound. But not only did she love watching the birds, she loved watching nature in its every form, visiting or revisiting an old, abandoned mansion in the woods just so she could see if wildlife had resettled well, and she always made soft cooing noises whenever she'd see a baby animal running away from her.

As for me, I felt a strange warmth sweep through my chest every time she did that. With Esme, it was either I'd feel the urge to kiss her senseless or just feel my eyes sting from unshed tears of tenderness.

I was truly, hopelessly, romantic. But she was too, as one would notice right away. She was an open book, offering her story to willing, loving eyes...

Speaking of love...

« Do you really want to be alone tonight ? » I heard her ask.

I turned to her, a smile across my lips, my gaze immediately locked with hers, as twilight was slowly advancing outside, and I felt hot inside. Not warmth, but a searing heat in my heart and stomach. This sensation that I knew so well reminded me every day of how lucky I was to have her here with me.

There were days where all I would feel was warmth spreading in my chest like a bright pink flamingo spreading its wings to take the skies another time. Even if it was small, it was there. And then there were days where I would feel a hot fire take over my whole body, a passion like no other. I would not be able to explain very well… but it was as if someone had stolen the fire of the sun to put it into your body, where it burnt and exploded joyfully, a delicious hot mess wrecking you in the best of ways. It shattered you to your core, but all you desired was to feel it again.

And you did. Always.

« I wish I could do something. » she said, taking a step closer to me, hands clasped together in front of her, as if repressing a gesture of tenderness. Perhaps she feared to rush me ?

« I just have to deal with it, like I always do. » I answered, taking her hands in mine.

« Maybe I can help you deal with it, if you let me ? » she pleaded, her bright eyes glimmering in the dim light of the candles.

I placed her hands on my chest, pressing her fingers to myself as though I wanted them to dig through my shirt.

Because I wanted them to dig through my shirt.

And Esme rested her beautiful head on top of them, closing her eyes. She was so adorable, yet so desirable, that my eyes could have burnt off and I would forever be glad to keep this as my last memory of the world.

God knows I would treasure it.

Esme always looked this way, felt this way : incredibly beautiful, dashing even, but somehow fragile and tender, more… real, more attainable. She was not only gifted with and outstanding exterior beauty, but with another thing, quite subtle and well hidden : an indescribable passion pulsing through her empty veins.

But then, could I say that they were empty ?

No, they were not. Neither were my own. We both pulsed with life, with love, with passion and rage. In a way, Esme and I were just as equally passionate ; in an other way, she was fire and I was ice.

Melting ice, I'd say.

« Stay. » was the first word I uttered that night, as I buried my face in her caramel locks.

There was something motherly about her, that was certain, but more specifically with the way she tasted and smelled to me.

Appealing was not even an understatement, it was an insult. She was far more delicious than that.

Needless to say, Esme's softness was unheard of. I could not help but choke back bittersweet sobs each time she nurtured me — nursed me, should I say —, and showed me just how deeply she cared for me.

« I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart. »

« Please don't. »

She chuckled, and shivers ran down my belly as I felt her mouth take on a familiar path towards my waiting lips. And she kissed me fully, yet tenderly, merely stroking our mouths together. But my lips felt numb after that.

I decided that I was tired of standing up.

I sat down on my chair, and Esme curled up in a ball on my lap, bringing her feet on either side of me, and I playfully teased her there until she planted a sharp kiss on my nose, a sly smile on her lips. Her hand shot up to undo the buttons of my shirt, and I watched, speechless, as they gleamed in the light. The candles made them look yellow, but it was of a pretty shade, almost the exact same one as her eyes.

And those wonderful eyes were too focused on their task to catch me staring. I noticed the way her blouse had somehow fallen the tiniest bit opened, and I licked my mouth in anticipation, as my desire skyrocketed. Her full, round, breasts were glowing fiercely beneath a laced bra.

My mouth opened wider.

Like the first time, I let my fingers wander curiously on her neckline. The combination of our pale skin was unlike anything I had ever seen, our complexions shining a soft shade of pink. As if our bodies had returned to their former healthy, human form, but then switched happily between pale pink and bright orange to see what would fit us best. But Esme looked dashing either way.

I stopped under her collarbone, and made eye contact with her. She was the one staring now. She watched me intently, but I could almost feel the love pouring out of her peaceful eyes. They were not pitch black yet, which was simply unacceptable.

Oh, I certainly could say that her pupils had swelled ; they were bigger and darker, and as my fingers ventured further down, I saw them swell even more.

I linked my mouth to hers passionately, moaning and breathing more heavily. She moved closer to me, causing delectable friction between our bodies. I longed to hold her even closer, and my hands yearningly pulled the straps of her bra down her bare arms, as she swiftly tucked her hair behind her shoulders, leaning back with an appreciative sigh. My thumb stroke the swell of her left breast, and I nudged her impulsively closer to my face, my instincts taking over as struggled to control my lust and rein in my painful desire just a little longer.

I wanted to feel her and taste her like I had never tasted anything before.

She obligingly unhooked her bra, but did not let it fall without lifting my chin the slightest so I would face her chest. I let out a small whine as she moved forth and then back, finally slipping her bra down her unclad stomach, never looking away. Her hand was still pressed to the side of my face, and I did not wait for her permission to place my forehead on her plump skin, burying my nose against the curve of her breast, pursuing my lips so they would touch her. I heard her groan discreetly ; she pressed herself to my mouth, her lips caressing my bent neck.

I wondered idly why she bothered holding back her pleasure, because I certainly did not intend to do the same…

« Oh, my love… » she whispered, trembling. I whispered back, stroking her breast longingly.

The need to have her had set fire to my core, and desire rose, hotter, itching my entire body.

She sat up straight, looking me deeply in the eyes, her gaze intense and soft at the same time as she rocked herself on me. Her movements were slow, so slow I could barely feel anything except for the irritating itch being tamed, and then firing up again, angrier and bigger. It fed on our undying desire like a child at his mother's breast : greedily ; bound to want more warmth, more softness, and even more friction. Bound to want more flesh.

As Esme hovered above me, her throat pressed to my cheek, I could no longer remember who I was, or what my name was. I was simply one with _her_.

But that was not who _I_ was, no … that was who _we_ were. _We_ were creating this magic, together, and that never ceased to amaze me. When she moaned « _Again…_ » , her hips stroking mine just enough so that the friction would become unbearable, I groaned in her chest, feeling the soft ends of her hair whip my shoulder as our passion flared. She was taking me higher each time, and I knew she felt the same.

 _One._

But we had yet to feel whole.

I had refused to take control, but I was starting to lose my mind, as the fire intensified, making us both tremble in the arms of the other, gasping for air and release. My body was ready to let go, but I held onto the lasting sensation, loud moans escaping my mouth. I threw my head back, moaning desperately. My hand grasped her hips, encouraging her to push harder on me because I needed to feel more of her.

I needed to feel everything she had to give me. I knew that when she would begin to cry my name out, she'd be ready for me to take her to an impossible height, one that I had just experienced. And the aftermath of such pleasure still had me trapped, enthralled by its charms as Esme finally screamed my name. Her little hands grasped the armchair, and she panted frantically, bitting her lips and moaning to herself.

Eyes semi opened, I watched from my resting place.

She looked so fragile, and yet so incredibly strong as her climax washed over her, leaving her body shaking and her flesh moist. I reached down and touched her, and she pushed on my fingers, falling back into the greedy hands of Pleasure. She was blissful, eyes shut and mouth wide opened, her lips glistening with venom and want, her hips wet with lust and need, cradling my happy fingers still at work between her white thighs. Gently, I stroke the underside of her breast with my free hand, tracing one breast's perfect outline, before teasing her slyly. I knew she would love to feel my hot breath on her nipple, and it would be a challenge for me.

I would have to hold back from tasting her.

And then I realized it was simply impossible. I licked her flesh feverishly, exhaling quickly to restrain my lust. But she was too good, too delicious, and I had to take her fully in my mouth.

My core jolted with indescribable pleasure. A tingling sensation crept between my thighs, one I was quite familiar with, and I felt myself become hard inside of her, again. She felt it too, and one tender hand went to rest on my head, stroking my neck with motherly care.

All I could do was whine.

I begged for more, and… God, she gave me _everything_.

* * *

 _ **There it is. Love ya.**_


	2. Finding each other again

_**Hello back.**_

 _ **It is rather unusual, isn't it ? Two chapters in 24 hours time ? I was inspired. :)**_

 _ **As always, enjoy.**_

 _ **DISCLAIMER (since I forgot it last night) : everything, except for the writing, belongs to Stephenie Meyer. Meaning the characters.**_

* * *

I was on the sofa, laying on my back with a book left opened on my lap.

I felt as if I was sleeping, exhaling peacefully and inhaling deeply. Slumber had taken over me, leaving me no chance but to surrender. But Morpheus had yet to take me, and since my body seemed to refuse him the honor, my soul did fall in his arms another time.

It rather amused Carlisle when I pretended to be asleep. But anytime my mind was tired enough to allow me to wander the land of dreams again, I reached for the occasion and only came back to reality when I felt I had to.

Now was a time to rest. Nothing would be coming my way anymore. All danger was gone, as snow floated outside, announcing a storm. Twilight spread its wings, but would soon retreat to let the night take up the burden of luring humans into sleep.

My mind drifted away from the living-room, and I could picture myself as a human surrendering to the night, as she took soul and body with her, only to give them back the following morning. Humans had so little choice over that, but were still luckier than many vampires. They had so many opportunities in life, so many choices, finally… Their only restriction was the shortness of their lives, when creatures like me had eternity. But it was a bittersweet decision to make : you could choose to experience immortality and spend it with the ones you loved, but you had to leave behind others who loved you …forever.

Or you could choose to give up immortality and live your human life, with every joy that came with it ; joys that many of us would kill to get back.

But all in all, I only knew few persons who ever had the right to choose, and they had all chosen immortality. Others had been denied this right, out of love or generosity (and sometimes curiosity), but also because of blood thirst and a lack of control, or greed. And after almost a hundred years as a vampire, I was still unsure wether it was best to live a lonely eternal life or to simply go, like so many before… I had been lucky enough not to leave anything behind me. And the vampire who changed me was still the one person I treasured the most in my life… and I had married him.

A smile crept onto my lips, and I couldn't help but giggle softly when I felt his lips pressing gently on my breasts. His hand came to rest on my belly as he made quick work of my fragile blouse, careful not to tear it apart. He knew I loved that one.

My husband took a step closer to the sofa, and I felt his chest behind my head. He lovingly pushed my hair away from my face, and I moved a little, drawing him closer to me, and he allowed me to burry my face in his neck. He unhooked my bra, and I breathed a little harder. I noticed that his own breaths were coming smoothly, so I knew I had yet to arouse him.

Feeling devious, I took one of his hands in mine and secured it on my breast. He sighed when his forearm brushed against the dark velvet, moving his fingers on me fondly.

 _Now_ I coud sense his lust for me.

The wind suddenly howled, shaking the windows frames violently, and I took in a sharp breath, startled, fighting the urge to open my eyes. If he had been surprised as well, he did not let me hear it. Instead, he traveled from my breast to the necklace hugging my neck. He played with it lazily, and all I could feel was the occasional brush of the side of his hand against my collarbone.

Only now did I realize that _Boulevard_ was playing in the background. Dan Byrd's mellow voice suddenly seemed to fill the atmosphere, cheering it up but saddening it at the same time. It was a complex medley of emotions. And Carlisle's shadow suddenly grew more intense, bringing relief to my eyelids as it shut out the too harsh light. It was not long before I felt his lips caress my cheeks. He pressed a tiny kiss to my nose, his fingers still lingering on my skin.

I moaned.

I felt good, deeply relaxed, even more than before.

It was one of my husband's powers.

« Are you sad, my love ? » he suddenly asked, his teeth grazing my ear.

« Are you concerned, lover ? » I said, my hands roaming his blond locks.

« Oh, I certainly should not be … »

His voice cracked slightly, and it was so low I felt my chest swell with pure lust.

« Hmmh, no… » I had to bite my lips when he nuzzled my breast.

He laughed then, and kissed me.

« You've woken my heart again, Esme. » he murmured huskily.

Lord, he was so _intense_.

Fire seized my thighs, and I knew he was aware of it, because he let out a powerful breath. It hit my chest forcefully, and an overwhelming warmth appeared in my heart. It was as if desire had filled my breasts, teasing my skin. The unbearable tingling sensation had returned.

My skin ached for _him_.

 _I_ ached for his skin.

« Esme… » he breathed, both his hands coming back to my breasts. « May I love you tonight ? »

It was more the question than the sentence itself that had my heart burst.

I moaned in his ear, and he whispered something very inappropriate, biting down softly on my burning neck. If I could have blushed, I would be a lovely shade of pink.

As if he knew, Carlisle kissed a sensual path on my cheeks, moving his fingers on me, working my flesh like he would write a love letter : carefully, attentively. He was genuinely aroused, even though I could not feel it yet. I just knew it.

« I love you, Carlisle. I love you so much. »

« And I love you more. »

« I love you most. »

He made sure to keep his lips on me as he parted my legs, and a rush of spicy scent filled the air.

Carlisle was the one to moan this time.

I decided to open my eyes, breaking the magic of the moment, but birthing a new one. As my husband's face slowly appeared before my lusty eyes, I fell deep into his black orbs, giving up on Morpheus and coming back to Zeus.

He was handsome. Perhaps it was because I had kept my eyes tightly closed all this time that he seemed even more beautiful. Again, he always was… There were just times where it would strike me the most.

« Did I ever tell you that taking off your bra is always what I find fascinating, my darling ? »

I couldn't help but laugh. It was so unusual of him to say such an intimate thing out loud.

And I felt quite sneaky tonight…

« Well, lover, take it off again. » I seductively whispered.

He tried to speak, but, picking up the plain red bra, I hushed him with a single finger. His eyes melted, and he bit his lips, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

 _There_ I had him.

I put the bra on, and slowly slid the straps back into place.

Outside, the storm attempted to tame the unleashed passion of his gaze as he stared adoringly at my breasts. When he licked his lips, I knew he was pondering how he was going to carry on his mission. As for me, I simply rearranged his blond locks, giving up on the rebel one. This one never fitted anyway, no matter the hairstyle.

I brought my finger down the bridge of his nose, locking my eyes to his. And when I felt the soft pout of his lips, I bent over and kissed him. He kept me in his arms a long time, exploring me, trying to feel so much more than what he could feel already… Passion, and love, did that to us : it made us wish for what seemed so impossible, it made us wish to feel our lover entirely. _Completely._

When we came together, it did not seem so impossible, but it still remained a quest. And we fought together in the midst of our release, keeping a watchful eye on the other, throwing our whole body, our whole soul into the fight. And it only seemed to be over when the passion would flare up again.

And when we finally felt complete, the pleasure exploded in us.

For now, it was building up, slowly but surely.

My lover's hands grasped my hips, tracing my sides faithfully before landing on my shoulders. Carlisle looked so genuinely focused on the appealing task ahead I doubted that he had noticed his mouth coming partway opened. His hands slid down my cleavage, and I closed my eyes... but not completely.

As I said earlier, we always kept a watchful eye on our lover. And drawing the line between « mate » and « lover » was too difficult, at this point. I felt a feral need to have him inside of me for good, but I refused to rush things.

So what did that make me ? A mate… or a lover ?

A _lover_.

He traced my breast with his fingers, letting them drop one by one on my swelling skin. He had left a trail of fire behind him. The contrast was startling.

He moved under me, whining intimately, as if I should not be hearing it. Too bad for him… I had. My hand gently stroked his back, encouraging his motions. He looked up at me, lingering on my plump lips ; he kissed me, eyes lustful and wide open, as his hand cupped one waiting breast. He did not yet moan, but I could feel it rising.

He kissed me again, sending shivers running down my body. I felt my body react, my nipple begging for his attention.

And, loving as he was, never breaking eye contact, never breaking our closed mouth kiss, Carlisle slid the straps back down with a satisfied hum. It was close enough to a moan for me, and I pressed my body to his, all my chest tingling from the sensation.

It was simply too good.

Instinct took over. It was the breaking point.

Carlisle and Esme Cullen disappeared below the surface of our passion, but I had rarely felt so much like myself. And he was still my husband, my lover. And he wanted to make love to me, another time. That still amazed me, and I suspected that it forever would.

« Let me love you again… » he whispered, almost as if he had read my thoughts.

« Yes… »

He moaned loudly. My hands reached down, unzipping his pants, and the friction threw hot fire pulsing through his veins. He reached behind me, unhooked my bra, and took it from me.

Under my husband's adoring stare, I felt more beautiful than ever before. Desire was written on his features as he lowered his head down to take one aching nipple in his mouth. He made soft noises, his body moving underneath my own, just as I moved above him, his head safely nestled in my arms.

He neglected my other breast, but he put his entire attention in what he was doing, moaning louder than before, moving faster.

I heard his silent plea, and he entered me. His mouth opened, moist with venom, when he cried out in pleasure. I felt a pang of lust rush out of me, cradling him. My breast was so wet, and seeing our joined bodies, feeling our sealed souls, made me call out for him. All he had to do was to move, and I moved harder, and he groaned. Then I would be the one to muffle a moan when his mouth latched onto me again, suckling desperately.

Sometimes, I could feel him let go of my nipple, but only to scream in pleasure. And he was back again, his nose buried in my skin as I hugged him tight. He refused to part from me, both down and above, moving fast, unsteady as his orgasm approached.

I put all my strength into watching him come.

I threw my hips at him one more time, and he was spent, crying out. Oh, he did not cry _my_ name out, no… he did not need to. He took the Lord's name, and I knew him enough to understand that he was thanking Him.

He shook inside of me, releasing his love, and it was just as hot as it was a moment ago.

We were never cold. Never when we were entangled together like that.

I did not miss my own orgasm, relishing in the pleasure it brought me, Carlisle mouth still locked to my sensitive flesh. He was still moving, but he was a panting mess, just like I was. Our souls were both crying out in agony, our pleasure reaching its peak.

It was not exactly a climax, but not far from it. Not far at all. And Carlisle would have said that it was.

« Love… oh, my love. » I heard him cry.

« I'm here. I'll always be. »

He nestled his face in my neck, his fingers replacing his mouth on my venom cloaked breast. His hand came to rest, finally, on the other, and he was startled to find it cold.

Far too cold.

« I was so afraid, my love. So afraid… »  
« I know, sweetheart. I was too. It became unbearable after their departure. I think I needed to have you back, to understand fully that you were still with me, even after all that. »

It was the longest sentence I had uttered this evening, and I almost giggled as I remembered how peacefully it had started.

And now we were sobbing in each other's arms, the aftermath of our passion slowly fading away, leading us back to reality.

It had not even been an hour.

* * *

 ** _I swear I'm not greedy for Carlesme smut, I swear it._**


	3. Helping a broken heart

_**Here is another one for you. It is what I imagine could possibly follow the Cullens encounter with Victoria's army, with a slight twist, meaning that Alice previously had a very precise vision of what Esme's fate could have been ... (btw, if you want to know what Carlisle's thoughts were the moment he learned the truth, let me know, and I'll write something about that ... may be).**_

 _ **I hope you enjoy that one as much as the two others, and thank you for your amazing reviews. :)**_

* * *

His kisses made her moan, and she moved restlessly in the evening grass. And as he tenderly stroke her wet hair, he noticed a single raindrop lingering upon her cheekbone. He brushed it away with another kiss, and she sighed, weaving her hand in his hair, sending shivers to run all the way across his stomach.

Their mouth became savage as the pouring rain turned into a light drizzle. The Earth seemed to move slowly now, as if she was watching attentively, holding her breath when the two lovers lowered themselves beneath the giant oak, their sounds of pleasure part of Nature. They were completely oblivious to the world around them, but the world was not oblivious to them. The little springtime birds were chirping joyfully, excited to see who were those two strangers invading their tree, and the newborn green leaves watched with wonder. An owl or two, safely perched and hidden behind branches looked down in awe, clearly dumbfounded to witness such an intimate moment.

His breath caught as she shamelessly opened her blouse, her eyes never leaving his own. And the whole tree quieted, silently admiring God's work in its purest form. The wind went to curl between her breasts, causing her to slightly shiver. The grass, suddenly, seemed to stretch to impossible heights just to have a chance to touch her, and a lone bird chirped timidly from above, falling into silence when her eyes closed, head rolling back, and her lips parted.

She had felt her husband's tender hands on her skin, and to her, _that_ was God's finest work. The pleasure she could feel rising deep within her was almost a form of art itself. It was hesitant at first, because his hands were hesitant, but then it grew firmer as his fingers moved on her skin. It became art, truly and unquestionably, when his mouth replaced them.

Every inch of her skin seemed too tempting to resist, making him ache internally, sweeping his heart into a joyful chaos. The doctor moaned, and began to gently suck on the very center of her right breast (he was feasting on her velvety skin, as vulnerable as a newborn baby), while his hand caressed her belly, running his fingers over her curvaceous hips and the soft slope of her waist. He did not kneed her flesh, wanting to feel it glide smoothly underneath the gentle pressure of his hands.

Every soft moan escaping from her lips seemed as new as a child's whimper, aiming straight to the burning fire in his chest, healing the damage that many years alone had caused.

His wife's breathing was still calm, and he so violently desired to ruin this calmness, to make her breath irregular and uneasy, just as his own was. His lips felt so soft on her breasts ; and the wet smoothness with which his tongue swept over her flesh was enticing. He whispered something sinful, something his younger self would have never said.

But he was no longer young, and he was no longer himself either.

He realized that he could not break the peace lurking beneath the oak. It was like a sunrise on another August day : hot, burning and yet strangely soothing. Perhaps it was because the night had been gloomy and dark...

It had been very humid, and the grey undertones had fought with the lilac ones of twilight, and won, sadly. Then grey shifted to a darker shade ; not pitch black, because it was utterly impossible, but nearer to dark violet … All through the night, the undertones fought their prismatic war, as another fight swept over the large house, where, in the end, the only color remaining was the one of the purest of love.

The very same love burnt under the oak tonight. Since the house had been claimed for the night, Esme and Carlisle had been left with very little choice. And, naturally, they had chosen the oak.

This tree was just as old as Esme was : an infant to Carlisle, but a sibling to her, and so they both loved that oak. In return, it spread its branches lower and further, in the fashion of a weeping willow, just to provide the two lovers with some very welcomed privacy.

Esme looked up, her eyes about to open, when a silent cry left her mouth, her features slyly displaying her unfathomable pleasure. Carlisle's cry was lost amidst the birds peaceful melody. With ecstasy filling their veins, and love filling their core, they, at last, went to rest under the tree, the grass swaying lazily around their disheveled forms.

Carlisle's shirt hung somewhere in the branches, and Esme's blouse was wide opened, revealing her divine breasts to her lover's eyes. He could not look away, even though he was listening to her very carefully. One of his hand had found a resting place on her back, and he nudged her closer to him to meet her lips once more. He let out a powerful sigh, the softness of her cheeks soothing his internal ache.

His other hand was playful, and she watched, still whispering lustful words and pressing herself to him, as he placed his head under her chin, eyes half closed … In that moment, he looked precisely like Carlisle Cullen. In that moment, he found himself again after the terrible events of the day. He found himself, and he was proud to say that it was when crying in his Esme's arms, when there was no one else around and not a soul to condemn the both of them to a painful separation. He was with her, and he wept silently, knowing he had the right to do so only if _she_ was here.

His heart broke with the thought that she could have been taken away from him.

Oh, Alice had tried to hide it. But Edward had pushed her to tell him the truth, to tell him what could have been. And that was why he had secluded himself in their room, head in his hands as he took in shallow breaths, each of them tainted with pain.

He had blood on his hands, now. They all had, but he had never harmed anyone quite so savagely, so instinctively … Of course, « blood » was not the best term to describe what had soiled his hands. But something inside of him needed to be mended quickly.

He had been defiled, wronged monstrously by someone who only desired revenge.

This quest for revenge could have cost him his love.

Despair, he soon learnt, felt like a contraction of the chest, as if someone was slowly crushing his heart, destroying it bit by bit. And it hurt more than anything he had ever experienced. With his hand caressing her breast, stroking her flesh with all the love he could extract from his pain, Carlisle, for the first time in ninety years, felt widowed.

He felt the sorrow inside his aching heart, felt the cold burn in his breast, and he knew it shouldn't have been here. He knew she was alive, he knew she had not been killed.

And yet, it was what fate had planned. That she should leave him behind, weeping in their room, all alone and back to the start, with a grief so strong he would have begged God to rip his sore chest apart. He would have begged the Lord to give him his heart back, to give him his wife back. He knew, deep within, that he would have done everything to die.

Edward had looked away after that, sorrow filling his eyes, and a tenderness Carlisle had rarely witnessed blossomed when he glanced at his mother. His son too, would have ached. They all would have. She was the heart of their family, the one thing that held them together.

But she was here. And as realization dawn over him, he started to sob.

It was gentle at first, but Esme cradled him, murmuring tender words to his ear as her chest heaved with love, a sad sigh escaping her mouth.

She loved Carlisle so much that the thought of leaving him behind nearly broke her heart.

Yes, if she was honest with herself, she'd much rather be dead than left alive without him. And that was unfair, because he would have been the one to go on without her. He probably felt the same.

But now that he was safe in her arms, she allowed herself the right to cry.

What she felt was a very different kind of pain, because she was not the one threatened, but her husband was. Yes, her life had been endangered, but she couldn't have felt more safe … But Carlisle was not safe yet. His eye burnt with sorrow and a pain that was uncalled for. He should not have been in pain, it wasn't right. _It wasn't fair._

The vampire woman had nearly destroyed his heart. She could have killed the entire family in the blink of an eye if only they had not stood up to her all together.

Revenge led nowhere, yet she had chosen to follow that path, only to meet her own end.

In a strange way, Esme felt sorry for her, and she knew Carlisle did too. She must have suffered horribly in her life for her to become so violent, so aggressive. And the loss she had to fight through was one Carlisle was only beginning to comprehend, because he had been so very close to experience it.

But she had threatened her family, threatened her husband, her children, and that, Esme could not forgive. She could never forgive Victoria for the pain Carlisle was going through.

Softly, Esme whispered in his ear a soothing _« I love you »_ , but they were only words, and Carlisle needed to feel her ; he needed his skin to be awaken from his sorrowful slumber, and she was the only one who knew the way. She hoped that it would not be too harsh, or that it would not frighten him even more, but she had to call him back to her.

So, gently, she pulled away from him. His head came to rest on the soft pillow of grass, but his eyes shot open immediately, and the fear she saw there crushed her. But she called nonetheless, her lips kissing his neck, just underneath his ear :

« Come back to me, Carlisle. »

She had not called him _« my love »_ , and he felt lonely. As if it was her ghost talking, and not his Esme.

He knew he was being stupid, he knew it better than anyone, and yet, she did not find him stupid. She went back to him, much to his relief, and this time, he put his arms around her, holding her firmly. His large hands stroke the length of her back, but the fabric disturbed him, so he disposed of it.

Her blouse ended up somewhere on the grass, and he sighed in contentment when he finally felt her skin. She moved closer to him, giving him butterfly kisses, peppering his face ever so gently, making small loving songs. It felt like Heaven to him, and with his eyes closed, he began to explore her body again.

« Are you back ? » she asked softly.

He muffled a moan as her hand brushed down is chest. Her fingers played with his skin the same way his own explored her flesh.

« Yes my sweetheart. I am back. »

« Promise me you won't leave me again. »

Just when Esme uttered the last word, she cursed herself. Carlisle's fingers shook briefly, startled, and she swore she could see tears in his eyes. His lips were quivering and she soothed them with a tiny kiss.

« I'm sorry… »

« I love you. » he cut her short.

She wasn't ready for him to take control, but she moaned loudly once he hovered above her, his body pressing against hers. He was so intense, so aroused that he felt empowered to cover her chest in a rain of kisses, moaning each time his lips met her delicate skin, especially when he licked her nipple.

She gasped, grasping his hair, and her hips shot up to meet his. In his eyes, she could see the lusty fire beginning to strengthen, as desire pooled from between her thighs.

His fingers got lost in the wet valley of her thighs, and he pushed hard against her. Esme cried out loudly, unable to find the will to remain quiet. She could not hold back this time, and she decided she would not allow her husband to so either.

The birds now seemed to listen carefully, and the tree shivered in the midst of their passion, the wind attempting to cool their bodies, and, defeated, swirled angrily between us. Carlisle lowered himself down, his arms shaking, his core burning fiercely, and stopped the rush of cold, replacing it with a thrust of inhuman passion.

The weight of his body… the friction… all of it was delectable. Esme moved with him, failing to keep up with his desperate rhythm ; she just laid there, the pressing point growing more and more intense… He was frantic, his hands were everywhere, his mouth never leaving hers.

He refused to breath, but he was panting nonetheless, making the strangest of sounds. And she found it incredibly arousing.

« Oh… love… _Esme_ … »

She hummed. His groin pulsed with his love for her, meeting her own release in an unbearable orgasm. He cried then, and the rain found it amusing to draw little teardrops on his cheeks. It suited him rather well, but Esme erased those pesky raindrops with her hands. She nuzzled his cheeks, her legs still hooked up around his strong waist, and she moved again, gasping when he squirmed with pleasure.

Carlisle lowered his head to her bosom, his nose touching her nipple, and breathed deeply, her flesh tempting him, glistening with his own venom.

The only thing he knew, now, was that she was _his_. She was still here.

* * *

 _ **Please leave your thoughts.**_


	4. Midnight bath

**Hi there, long time no see ! I'm not going to apologise, but you guys know how busy I am, and how lazy I am. I've had this story since forever in my desktop and I figured it was time to finish it, which is why it might seem a bit rushed. I just lacked inspiration and determination. Nevertheless, it's a quick update to let you know that i haven't forgotten about my readers.**

 **DISCLAIMER** **: Stephenie Meyers owns all the rights, only the writing part is genuinely mine.**

* * *

Esme led him into the house, smiling as the first shadows of twilight began to color the walls in a lavender tone. Everything was so quiet that none of the two vampires dared to breath, unwilling to disturb the peaceful silent.

She kissed him, breathing his familiar, comforting scent. Oddly, his lips tasted like snow — if there was such a thing as a snowy perfume — as if he had been tasting the tiny snowflakes still lingering in her hair. Carlisle's hair were a mess, suddenly wet under the melting snow, and she lovingly pushed aside a strand that had unceremoniously fallen right on the tip of her nose as it lingered on, pressed to his soft cheek.

Her husband was properly disheveled, the complete opposite of the doctor he was. Carlisle, when in her arms, was not proper.

Esme decided his lips did not taste like snow at all, but very much like something cold, as indefinite as it may seem. Rock, wood, grass or dead flower, she did not know. However, everything else about him was warm, from his eyes to his hands ; from his cheek to his chest.

She suspected there was much more warmth yet to be discovered underneath his clinging clothes.

As he lowered his head to kiss her again, she put a hand on his mouth, and he blinked furiously, surprised.

Sporting an elegant ensemble, her hair a curly mess, and a slightly crooked smile on her lips, Esme was beautiful. Sometimes, she appeared so very different from what everybody knew her to be, with that gleeful sparkle in her eyes and those irreverent hands, but he knew better. She was a complex woman, a true mother and an eternal young adult.

« You seem to have gone deep in thought sweetheart, » she said mischievously, her breath a mere flutter on his skin, « what has you so troubled ? ».

« I am not troubled, darling. Although it would seem that my otherwise infallible brain may have bypassed a very important thing… » he answered, probing her lower lip with his thumb.

« Then what is it that you have forgotten ? » she asked, her eyes squinting. She was suspicious, but she tried to hide it, very unsuccessfully. Biting her lip in an attempt to conceal her smile gave her away, and Carlisle laughed heartily.

« That's not funny, » she pouted, the perfect illustration of a child caught in the midst of mischief.

« Oh, it is, darling, » and he kissed her softly, eager to see that expression disappear « Would you like a warm bath ? ».

« Is that the 'important thing' you forgot ? » she murmured « because you sure know how to have your way, Doctor Cullen. »

« I am a gentleman, Esme. I ask before 'having my way', » he protested, stroking her hair.

She playfully tickled his ear, « I am listening… ».

« May I carry my wife up to our scandalously big bathroom and enjoy a well deserved bath with her ? »

« Of course, honey, » she said, before tugging at his scarf and leading him to the staircase, her hand safely tucked in his. The lights were all shut, and shadows had now taken over the entire house. The dark rooms they passed seemed to glow under the moonlight, and Esme closed the door of each one, reaching the bathroom almost too quickly for her husband's liking.

She clicked the light on, her gaze lowering to his chest, where her palm now rested.

He realized how much he had hungered for her touch.

So he ran his nose over the smooth silk of her dress, and sighed when he felt her skin under his lips. He pulled on the hem, nuzzling her, shaking with his own delight, as she moaned shamelessly. He was timid, responsive to her every noise, as his tongue lavished her cleavage.

She watched from above, her restless fingers weaving through his blonde locks, her desire a bittersweet ripple inside of her. Her thighs longed to hold him, and she took a sharp breath when his hand stroked her breast. Through the fabric, he could feel her skin respond to his touch. Unable to resist, barely in control, he slid her sleeves down her arms, freeing her chest from the fabric. With respect and lust, he admired her, before bowing his head to breath in her scent. Lovingly, the doctor trailed kisses on her chest, taking more time to worship each of her white breasts. Every time he would lay his greedy lips on her, Esme would only hold him a little tighter against her, stroking his cheek when he would whimper in pleasure. Strangely, seeing him so defenseless made her ache with lust. He was nothing like Carlisle Cullen, the doctor, but so very much himself.

Esme sat up, silent cries of passion trapped in her throat, her hips sore with the need to have him. Carlisle whimpered against her breast, his nose brushing her nipple. She threw her head back, panting. He made soft cooing sounds, his hips swaying gently underneath her, his desire painfully obvious, burning against her high as she bit her lower lip, a loud moan escaping her throat.  
Carlisle's breath was heavy too, riptides of pleasure washing over him, his grip tightening on her hips as he thrusted into her, a wistful moan leaving his lips. Her clothes still held onto her, unwilling to surrender, but too wrinkled and drenched from their desire to fight.

Esme moved to sit on his lap. Carlisle moaned faintly. His wife, unbuttoning his shirt with everlasting patience, gently rocked herself on him, and his own sounds of pleasure echoed through the air.

Carlisle shrugged off his shirt, and pressed his lips against hers, incapable of unzipping his pants, his ragged breath begging Esme to do it for him.

She tore them apart.

She took his hands and brought them back to her chest, securing them upon her breasts, as she began to move on him. He brought her lips back to his, in an attempt to muffle his moans, his hands roaming her back, feverishly unzipping her dress.

« Don't be silent » she pleaded, her hips crashing into his.

« I won't » he licked her ear, murmuring sinful things ; things he should not have said, and things she should not have enjoyed hearing. He swore, discreetly, his eyes tightly shut under the pressure of her body rocking on his own, and she cried out. Carlisle marveled at the sound, his fingertips stroking her sensitive skin, and he relished in the change of texture, humming contentedly between her breasts.

« What was it that you had forgotten ? » she asked, gasping when he grabbed her thighs. He stood up and lowered the both of them in the bathtub, his lips never leaving hers.

« Lord help me if I remember it at all, my love. »

He sighed when the hot water reached their already burning hips, and she let him take control, the pressure escalating in her belly, her skin tingling and her breasts aching for his warmth.

« Too cold… » she moaned, her chest heaving.

She threw her head back, her gasping breaths turning into loud moans as he thrust harder into her, reaching a spot far too sensitive. And he thrusted again, reached it again, and she bit her lips, pleasure coursing through her limbs. She was frantic when she roamed his wet hair with her fingers, tugging at every single strand, eyes shut.

The doctor reached out and grabbed his wife's thighs, his nose buried in her neck, his breathing frantic and uneven.

It was such a strange thing, feeling both powerless and powerful, both exhausted and fierce … Esme's never ending lust for him was his most treasured gift, and the love she left behind every caress was enough for her husband to wonder in his own version of paradise. He never knew when his pleasure would reach its peak, but he always knew when hers was coming, and such a time was approaching fast.

His fingers worked the flesh between her legs, wandering down a familiar path, exploring again the beloved flower of his wife's womanhood. Her moans grew louder, more constant, and he knew what he had to do.

It was just a matter of seconds before she climaxed, her head thrown back, mouth opened, and her hands clutching the fingers resting between her thighs.

The water danced around them in indecent circles, soaking their hair, turning them into aquatic gods. And as Esme looked up to her lover, she saw that his love for her danced a much more private choreography.

* * *

 **A bit short, isn't it ? But that's what a treat is all about ! ;) Also, I'm thinking about new stories for my French readers around here !**

 _ **xxx Alice**_


	5. Passion and pent up desires

**Here's another one of Carlise and Esme's encounters. I hope you will also enjoy this one. Thank you for kindly reviewing my stories, it is always a pleasure to know your thoughts !**

 **This one is a bit different, a bit less poetic than the previous one, but hey, style exists to be changed.**

 **xxx Alice**

* * *

It was just after eight in the evening, and the Cullen house was alive with happy chatter and wistful sighs as the wedding party carried on. Spotting one of the family members was not a difficult task, as most eyes seemed anchored to either the happy couple, swirling between other couples, or the restless brunette with her hand tucked in her partner's, smiling fondly to the mother of the bride, or the beautiful blonde with the giant with a provoking smirk, or, why not, the father of the groom, his arm around his wife as they pretended to stroll around the buffet with a cup of champagne in their hands, untouched. Understanding the profoundness of their love for each other was a more delicate thing to do, as most humans ignored that for one new wedding, three others had already withstood decades. If they found the Cullens strange, they could never know to what extent.

The wolf boy, Seth, attempted to flee his mother's attentive eyes and took off somewhere. Funnily enough, not one single guest apart from those with golden eyes noticed the sudden departure of the newlyweds into the shadows of the forest. Alice had done such a good job at providing particularly delicious food that most of them were highly occupied. The others, however, glanced towards the driveway with uncertainty, or in Emmet's case, a knowing smirk. As Rosalie often put it, it was the 'someone will regret that' smirk. Which meant that this someone was most certainly going to be Edward because who else was there to tease anyway ?

Toasts had already been given, and Carlisle's thoughts were now miles away from what his son was doing in the woods with his wife, and why on earth Emmett's smirk seemed so telltale. His thoughts were not at all against an escapade in the woods with his wife, and given the general romantic mood, he felt entitled to think so. With an uneasy feeling, he realized that such thoughts of Esme had been long overdue. He had, after all, been working too much again. Although he knew she was not bothered by his choice of working full-time at Forks hospital and covering other doctor's shifts once in a while, he also knew better than to wait too much. For his sake and her own, he had tried to escape their home quite a few times. Edward called his attempts 'the biggest failure of the century', since, to Carlisle's deepest grief, it was none other than Esme who turned down his subtle and very hopeful approaches. Because wedding, because not enough time, because whatever ; he still wanted her, and this was getting very uncomfortable. Especially at his son's wedding.

What the poor doctor could not guess was the turn Esme's thoughts had taken. Her inner-self blushed furiously, and her unbeating heart was soaring with need. In fact, they were both desperate for the other's touch, and did not even know it, and were unsure whether to act on it. Esme was very sure of two things though : for one, they would need to wait for a solid 6 to 7 hours before their guests would be all gone, and second, then they would need to clean up — not to mention the presence of their children in the house, which would put any need for privacy on hold.

A hold which Carlisle often referred to as being 'as endless as a philosophy lecture', even though they both knew he liked philosophy just fine.

Her husband knew how to dramatize things.

« Since everyone is either eating or dancing, and I will not swallow anything else tonight even for the Lord, would you like to dance ? » she asked, eying the row of appetizers with profound disgust.

He chuckled and kissed her brow, whispering 'of course' in her ear before leading her towards the dance floor.

A mellow mix of piano and violin, with soft notes of cello, orchestrated the movements of the dancers, and Carlisle and Esme joined in easily. The music guided their movements, and because their bodies knew just what the steps were, their eyes were free to roam the other's face whilst both their minds worked at an alarming pace trying to figure out just how to — subtly — walk away.

« Where have they gone, do you know ? » she asked, her hands resting on his chest, toying with his white flower, safely tucked in his breast pocket.

« No I do not my love, but they will be back shortly I suppose. The bride and groom cannot disappear for long at their own wedding »

She smirked. Carlisle decided that there was really no other way to cut the silence than to kiss her ; just a peck could never hurt, or so he thought before the tightness of his suit reminded him that said suit was, sadly, still here.

Esme's breath caught in her throat as she felt her breasts brush against the flower, the petals stroking her bare skin in a light caress that so resembled his touch. Her skin tightened delightfully, hidden underneath the fabric that he wanted to tear apart. Her touch grew a bit firmer as her fingers locked on his arms. All that lasted for only half a second, but her heaving chest was still demanding his attention.

Oh, how close his fingers were from her breasts. How white would they would look on her pink and awfully sensitive flesh ? How cold would they feel like ? Or how warm, how searing hot ? Her breasts were sore, tight with need, and she brought her feet together slightly, rubbing her thighs together to soothe the ache.

« Esme, could you please come and help me bring more champagne ? I would look conspicuous carrying three plates on my own. » she heard Alice ask just as the haze of her lust started to recede.

« Oh, yes, sure. » she glanced nervously at the buffet table. She should have noticed that all the glasses had been emptied; but of course she had been distracted.

« Perhaps I too could help ? » Carlisle said, not letting go of her, and hearing his voice shot an arrow of fire blazing through her lap. His voice was husky, low. His eyes had darkened.

« Oh well, just the two of you then. It'll look nice coming from the mother an father of the groom. Champagne makes everyone look chic. » Alice grinned, a strange light in her eyes.

Carlisle gathered his wife in his arms, proudly claiming her as his own. Could he have guessed that the friction caused by his arms aroused her even more ?

« Are you suggesting that we are not chic, Alice ? » he asked, feigning to be vexed.

« Never said that, not even thought about saying it. » she eyed her parents carefully, and smiled before walking away.

« You made me wear that dress » warned Esme under her breath as her daughter passed by her.

« It's becoming on you, Esme. You very nearly had a heart attack the first time I showed it to you. But nothing will ever top that bright orange dress you wore in the fifties, remember ? »

Carlisle vivdly remembered, and it was all he could do not to whimper with need.

Esme laughed heartily, taking his hand.

« Yes I do. I believe every man in attendance remembers as well ? »

« Spot on, Mum. Now get to it. »

Esme was not sure whether she meant the champagne or … something else. The glimmer in Alice's eyes grew more intense as she grinned mischievously, heading towards Jasper, who was keeping Charlie entertained.

* * *

The champagne glasses were waiting for them, sitting proudly on the kitchen island, glistening like clusters of starlight in the brightly lit room. The bubbles were fizzing, flickering before dying in a silent plea for mercy. The house was empty. The sound the glass door made when closing tickled Esme's thighs inexplicably, and she clutched her shawl, pressing her arms against her breasts to keep from moaning.

From the garden, not one soul could see them as they moved towards where the champagne glasses stood, Esme's heeled feet making a clicking noise as she walked. Her gown flowed around her calves and her sculpted ankles, and Carlisle nearly tripped watching it. Her shawl covered her shoulders, but not her glorious bare back.

Everything was bared, he realized. Earlier, he had noticed how the tops of her round, full, breasts shone appealingly in the dim lights of their backyard. Her skin, milky white, did not reflect light : it swallowed it, nurtured it and locked it inside her breasts. They were beacons shining for his attention, and his manhood wholeheartedly agreed to give into his wants.

She took off her shawl, displaying a rather impressive cleavage, and he knew he could not bear the mounting pressure anymore.

« I need to fetch something in my study, darling, I will be right back to help you with these plates. » he said, his voice croaked, hungry.

His lips felt too dry, all the moisture had drained from his upper body and was making a faithful, painful, journey to his lower body. His thighs roared with disapproval as he ascended the stairs, every movement such a pleasurable one. His left hand gripped the bannister tightly, making small indents in the fragile wood.

His temples were pounding, resonating with the sounds of the moans and cries of ecstasy he so desired to hear coming from her lips.

« Carlisle » she said.

Good Lord, her voice was nothing more than a whisper, a tender promise.

Before he could turn around, her hands collided with his back, running from top to bottom as she felt the brand new suit.

He looked dashing, so much that she had to close her eyes. When she opened them again, a fraction of second later, she found his devouring gaze locked on her breasts. His lips were parted, his tongue a glistening promise, a moist secret that she ached to feel.

« Your study. _Now_. » she growled, and he attacked her mouth, gasping as her hands grasped the lapels of his suit and gently pulled them away from his body, careful not to tear.

He was fierce, she was powerful.

« I want you, Esme. I've been wanting you all evening » he whimpered, his fingers grazing her collarbone, his lips tugging at her earlobe.

The study was dark, lit only by the ascending light from the living room, and the distant lights coming from the garden. All sounds besides their panting and moaning had disappeared.

« Don't be gentle » she breathed, her tone nearly menacing. Her instincts were catching up with her as her husband's passion flared.

With one thigh hooked around his highly sensitive waist, her neck offered to his greedy lips, the right strap of her dress off of her lovely shoulder, Carlisle felt that such a vision could be his undoing.

He watched, entranced, as her left strap followed suite, exposing her left breast, his favorite, to his eyes.

She looked so impossibly full it made him want to weep and dive in wildly, all at once. He never knew which feeling would overcome him before it did, but his groins were on fire. His skin was pulsing, becoming alive with lust.

Her nipple was begging him, and her parted lips breathed his name. He chose to dive in, if only to give his goddess the relief she desperately craved.

It was not a selfless gesture by any means : the moment his tongue licked her flesh, he pushed his hips against her, instinctively, and moaned alongside her.

No, pleasuring had never been a selfless gesture. It never would be.

« More… » she demanded, her tone pleading as he pinned her against the wall, pushing her dress up her creamy thighs. « I need more, my love… »

His mouth locked on her left breast, she guided his right hand into her warm lap, welcoming his weary touch into a delightfully wet cradle.

His forefinger curved inside of her, his thumb grazing her swollen flesh, and he could not resist anymore.

He lowered himself on one knee, and buried his mouth inside of her, claiming her venom, tasting her as best as he possibly could. His hands abandoned her lap, and settled instead on her tummy, tracing every curve they found. Esme moaned loudly, and failed to say his name.

He stopped, and she cried out in agony, her need flowing onto his tongue, her fingers tugging at his neck to press him against her.

In a flash, he removed his belt, threw it on his desk, and pushed her into the wall, crushing both hips and lips with what he had to offer, mingling both their scents and venoms. The whole house shook when he entered her, biting down on her breast so no one could hear his ecstasy.

She did not do such a thing.

Her scream echoed throughout the room, and the wild dance his hips created became wilder, incredibly powerful.

It was a miracle that both their outfits and hairstyles had survived thus far.

Esme pushed down, he retaliated, pushing upwards and hitting her soft spot every single time. She rewarded him with a generous dose of panting, his name and their Lord's name escaping her relentlessly as she came closer to the brink of release.

It felt as if the whole world was holding its breath, waiting for his wife to finally come.

« So … much … time » she moaned, biting her lips.

Her hand shot down, stroking his flesh soothingly, a stark contrast to their passionate embrace.

He growled, biting her nipple so hard she slammed her hand against the wall.

He was dangerously close, pulsing and throbbing inside of her.

She was in the throes of her climax, writhing against him, trying to feel every inch he could offer her, each of his fingers as they tiredly landed on her belly.

He felt exhausted, sated, spent and breathless.

« I love you so much, my treasure » he murmured, sobs in his voice as he came, his final thrust causing her to reach blindly for her own breast, close to his wandering mouth.

She shook, and she shook with raking pleasure as the tide of her rapture took over both their senses. Their flesh connected in the purest of ways, and in that moment, both of them could feel an enchantment akin to an epiphany, as they rode the waves of Heaven together.

* * *

 **One day I will learn how to properly end such a thing, but today's not the day. Oh well, it was a nice treat, wasn't it ?**

 **Because C/Es lemons are rare, especially canon and not too 'over the top' (I hope mine was not), nor too crude. It's a matter of balance, and I'm picky. Since a lot of people are, here's my take.**


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